


How Declan Lynch (almost) forgot to be cynical for an entire day.

by crostiina



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Brotherly Love, Fluff, Gen, declan will be loved and celebrated as a treat, just Declan being treated for his birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crostiina/pseuds/crostiina
Summary: "Buttering the bottom is supposed to make it heat up faster. Or so a little bird told me." Jordan explained, unable to stop smiling, as Matthew grinned, both proud and slightly guilty."Jesus Christ." Declan whispered, running a hand through his hair, absolutely picturing what could have happened.[or, where one tired Declan Lynch gets his special day]
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: TRC Spring Fling





	How Declan Lynch (almost) forgot to be cynical for an entire day.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JessJesstheBest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessJesstheBest/gifts).



> I hope you like it!

When Declan opened his eyes, it was a day like every other. He looked at the powder blue ceiling of his childhood bedroom and felt nauseous, in that familiar, almost comforting way that came hand in hand with consistently sleeping half of the recommended amount for an adult.

He was painfully aware of the fact it was his birthday. He would have liked to forget it, to simply brush it aside as he let himself be sucked him by the horrendous mess his life was, the way it had always been since Aurora Lynch had stopped being there to celebrate. It was way easier, to be honest: the day went by the usual way, without the weight of petty thoughts and reminiscences making everything harder, every day slower. He went through this routine until Matthew suddenly remembered and insisted on making a cake - even though he had neither the skills or patience to do it, so Declan had to instead - or Ronan showed up with something storebought and plain save for a usually offensive message painted on top, and that was it. No more than three hours to think about it.

It was different, now. They were at the barns, shielded from the action and surrounded by old gifts, pictures, things that seemed to exist solely to bring up memories. Most of the things that worried him outside were still there, phonecalls and dreams and secrets and Ronan wreaking havoc, but without the time that working and keeping up an appearance took from him, he was left with many empty moments in between his worries, moment to think, to remember, to feel nostalgic in a way that made him sick to his stomach. Technically speaking, he knew he didn’t have anything to be nostalgic about. He didn’t have the fun, careless, picture-perfect childhood that Matthew and Ronan shared. His father’s death, for how unnervingly painful as it was, didn’t break or change his world view. He had been grown to be aware, to take care of things, to know and understand and be ready to take action, so he had never had time to be innocent and naive. And yet, there was something there, in the smell and the colors and the awkward charm of that place that ate at him.

You can’t miss your childhood if you didn’t really have one, but you can miss other things from that time. Being at the barns, reminded him of those other things. That he was a son in a way that didn’t solely mean _accompli_ _ce_ and a brother but not necessarily a _caregiver_. That he used to eat breakfast someone cooked for him and feel gentle fingers comb through his hair and be awoken by unrest and anxiety but also laughter, by song, by life. 

It reminded him that he was someone who used to celebrate birthdays and have cakes freshly baked for him that filled the kitchen with their sugary and buttery smell, that he used to have candles to blow and gifts that he asked for and a small crowd to sing him “happy birthday”. He was aware that those were details, futile things that somewhat got slapped on the shitshow that his life had been, but still, he couldn’t help indulging in the memories, brushing his fingers over them, missing their warm and inviting exteriors even though he knew every and each one of them was still drenched in misery. He had never been happy, or lighthearted, or safe. But he missed believing that it could be possible.

Every inch of that place made him painfully aware of all that, like the framed picture of his 16th birthday party hung just outside his bedroom. Reminding of the time passing, of the weeks, then days, then hours separating him from the farewell to his bleak, overwhelming and definitely unforgettable 21rst year of living. So he knew, when he opened his eyes and felt nauseous and old like every other day. And he hoped that he would forget soon and that Matthew had forgotten too, so that he could dodge the thought that he lived the kind of life that made your birthday a chore and nothing else. Not because it hurt, not because he actively wished it could be different, but because it stirred something low and uncomfortable deep in the darkest corners of his soul and that was incredibly inconvenient. 

He turned his head to the other side of the bed and noticed it was empty, the sheets not abandoned but carefully tucked at his left, in a way that made his chest positively hurt. _Jordan._ She couldn’t know what day it was, he realized, and he really didn’t know if that pleased him or not. It was a strange thought, something that stayed with him as he went to the bathroom, as he took a shower and chose to gift himself by wearing jeans and a gray-toned sweater with a chaotically designed geometrical pattern. Needless to say, he was horrible at treating himself, but that wasn't really a basic need for him. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and felt stupid for the rush of warmth he felt running through his body, so he decided to stop thinking about it and got out of the room, trying to be unaware of his birthday and his sweater and how normal everything was despite something unreasonable buried deep inside of him telling that was supposed to be special. That even for him, in the quiet boredom he had carefully picked for the outside of his life, that day was supposed to be different, allowed to be flashy and bright.

He wasn’t surprised by the chatter he heard midway through the stairs, it wasn’t something unusual: Jordan and Matthew, both extremely charming individuals aware of their shared nature, had fit right with each other from the first moments. Even if his brother’s mood had changed into something less flashy and uncharacteristically brooding, he was still the hyperactive teenager he had always been and Jordan was someone new and interesting, an artist and a dream and too much for him not to be sucked up by her charm, though in a very different way. He had thought he would have gone insane, months in the barns with him, but Matthew had found a friend and a mentor in Jordan, while Declan experimented for the first time the thrill of not being completely alone in handling a delicate situation.

He walked into the kitchen and there they were, Jordan leaning against the counter in a silk neon pink nightrobe, coffee in her hand and the brightest, most beautiful smile on her face, looking at Matthew squatting in front of the oven in unnervingly yellow pajamas striped in blue, happily whispering about how _awesome_ something was going to turn out. Declan felt himself smiling before he could think about it, something small and quiet that was still unusual for him, during times like those. He didn’t have space for any “proper” dream, in his complicated life, but he knew that if he did, they’d look like those quiet moments stretched endlessly, a busy life made of small talk and quiet and the people he loved at peace, safe from harm. They could only last a couple of hours, in reality, with everything still messy and dangerous outside, but it was enough. It was better than nothing.

He didn’t realize Jordan had seen him until she noisily cleared her throat, something that had to be an alarm for Matthew, since he immediately stood up and turned around to face him. He saw his lips open wide, before they shut closed immediately after, his brows furrowed in a complicated expression.

“Morning!” he shouted in the end, grinning proudly, his backside still pressed against the oven. 

He pointed at the table, where sat a cup of what was probably coffee drowned in whipped cream and a plate with more eggs and bacon than anyone could eat in a day. 

Declan didn’t understand. He was too focused on the sweet smell filling up the kitchen, on the unbelievably childish way the food was attempting to form a smiley face on the plate, on the exaggerated amount of whipped cream that almost overflowed from the bright orange mug. Those were tender things, meant for children, creatures gentle enough to be able to soak it in with ease, no question asked. He didn’t understand it.

“Happy Birthday, Declan.” 

Jordan’s warm voice was immediately overcome by the inhumane whine Matthew emitted immediately after, looking at her in the clearest display of betrayal ever portrayed.

_Oh._

“It was supposed to be a _surprise!_ ”

“Pretty sure he already knew. It’s _his_ birthday.”

She was smiling under every word, her warm, dark eyes pointed on Declan with tenderness and mischief.

Matthew vigorously shook his head, then spread his arms.

“He _never_ knows!” he complained, pointing at him.

And then it hit him. All of that, whatever was cooking in the oven, the food on his plate, Matthew already awake and moving and cheerier than he’d seen him in weeks. 

It was for him. 

Declan didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t used to that, he could have said he had never been, but that would have been unnecessarily cold and mean. He knew he had been used to that, because he had _missed_ it. He had missed the thought of having something done specifically for him, of someone thinking about him and what he liked and how to make his day better. He knew it was selfish, but he had missed that part too, the ability to be selfish about what he wanted.

He sat down and looked at the horrifying amount of food on the plate, at the whipped cream, comparing it to the black coffee he usually had, to the one Jordan was also drinking and Matthew’s mug still on its shelf, unused. The idea of his little brother putting his own needs aside to work on something for him, something he hadn’t even _asked_ , made his chest hurt.

“Did you make all this?”

_‘And the cake’_ , he wanted to add, but it was better not to “ruin” at least that surprise.

He looked at Jordan, who promptly raised both hands, as to show innocence.

“He did.”

“Jordan helped me. She told me the basics, like, how to make whipped cream and why buttering both sides of the pan is a big no-no.”

“Why _wouldn’t_ that be wrong?” he had to ask, his skin crawling just thinking about the outcome of something like that.

Jordan laughed at what had to be a horrified expression, then shrugged.

“Buttering the bottom is supposed to make it heat up faster. Or so a little bird told me.” she explained, unable to stop smiling, as Matthew grinned, both proud and slightly guilty.

“Jesus Christ.” Declan whispered, running a hand through his hair, still picturing what could have happened.

But it hadn’t. And the kitchen was mostly tidy and clean and not a huge mess he would have had to clean by himself at the end of the day, and there was still all of that food in front of him.

He took a bite from the eggs and they were slightly greasier than he remembered, but it didn’t matter. It still tasted like home. 

Smiling was a big deal, for Declan. It was a heavy thing, easy to fake but hard to feel. Yet feeling it he was as he stood up to grab two forks and placed them on the table, before sitting down.

He looked at the other two, gesturing to sit beside him.

“Come, help me out. There is no way I can fit all of this in my body.” he pointed out, his stare lingering and insistent enough to make both of them give in and sit down.

To be honest, he barely could take more than a couple of bites, after the sugary mess that the coffee was, but he ate more and more because it felt good to see how Matthew smiled. To forget everything and just be, to soak in all the love and the laughter and the quiet.

He spent the rest of the morning outside, walking and feeding the animals and making phone calls, while Matthew decorated a cake whose existence he still wasn’t allowed to acknowledge. It was, basically, the way he spent any other day, only without being able to go in and with the impending knowledge that there was _something_ waiting for him, something that had been specifically made and baked and decorated so that he would like it. 

It was driving him nuts. 

He kept thinking about it without even realizing it, checking the time more often than he ever did, catching himself wondering about what it would have looked like. He just wasn't used to looking forward to things that were _good_. It was something small, that most people took for granted and that he didn’t even like that much, yet it felt special, because it was for him.

Surprises had been awful and terrifying for so long, he didn’t know what a good one looked like anymore.

But he did find out, at twelve o’clock, when he entered the house the way Matthew had decided. It looked like their kitchen with all the blinds closed to block out the light, Matthew and Jordan struggling to light the last of too many candles and a tall silhouette standing behind them, laughing low and a bit mocking. A good surprise looked like Ronan leaning towards the cake, his smile sharp but sweet, his eyes alive and gleaming under the candlelight. It was so unexpected that it made his chest hurt. 

Every bit of that scene did: Matthew softer under the warm light, looking more like the child he was in Declan's eyes than the young man he was becoming, Jordan beautiful and alive, despite every fear, looking at the candles to ensure they wouldn't blow, smiling in a way that was natural, yet felt new. Even Ronan, usually too blunt and angry to be anything but nice, felt warm and tender, singing in a weird high-pitched voice that tried to strip the softness out of his presence there and absolutely failing to do so. The three of them singing and smiling and pulling him in front of a cake with his name carefully frosted on.

Declan was a practical individual, master in the art of overthinking. He didn’t like wasting time on parties and distractions, he didn’t allow himself to dwell on details and memories and wishes and other small, futile things. But at that moment, he wished he could refuse to blow out the candles, so that he could stretch that perfect, warm part of his life forever, replacing all the dark, and the dirt, and the pain. 

And he knew that everything was going to go back to normal, that the laughing and chatting and board games were gonna cease as soon as every light of the house went out for the night and not return for a while. He knew that the world was cruel and he would have had to focus exclusively on that, once again. He knew it was right and normal and the way things were.

But that moment was perfect, isolated from space and time, Declan standing in his favorite ugly sweater behind a cake with his name frosted on top, the people he loved the most gathered in front of him, joyously clapping their hands as the candles painted everything gold. 

Sometimes he forgot that he had been happy, before. Only sometimes, when he was really small, on the very best days. 

But he remembered right there and then, what it felt like, to love a moment so much that he forgot the rest. That it convinced him that life wasn’t just a big, angry monster he was forced to face alone but something sweet, something that stroked his cheek with warm fingers and kissed the top of his head. 

From time to time. When he had been very, exceptionally good.

That moment was exactly that.

So he couldn’t help but wish, feeling like a ruined, laughable twenty-two-years-old, that his birthday could never end.

**Author's Note:**

> I went with the "Lynch brothers bonding" prompt, but I was hit out of the blue with this idea, so I ended up shaking it up a bit. I hope you don't mind!  
> I have to give ALL the thanks to [creativefiend19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativefiend19) for their massive help and wonderful suggestions that absolutely made the difference! I honestly don't know what I would have done without them. 


End file.
